


we haven't had an earthquake lately

by killabeez



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode Related, Episode Tag, Episode: s07e07 The Mentalists, Gen, Gen Fic, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-08
Updated: 2011-11-08
Packaged: 2017-10-25 20:19:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/274374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/killabeez/pseuds/killabeez
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A little schmoopy tag for "The Mentalists," in which it's easier to say certain things in the dark.</p><p>This story has been podficced by the lovely electricmonkey333. [<a href="http://amplificathon.livejournal.com/1349937.html">Link here</a>]</p>
            </blockquote>





	we haven't had an earthquake lately

**Author's Note:**

  * For [harrigan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/harrigan/gifts).



> “It's snowing still," said Eeyore gloomily.  
> "So it is."  
> "And freezing."  
> "Is it?"  
> "Yes," said Eeyore. "However," he said, brightening up a little, "we haven't had an earthquake lately."
> 
> ― A.A. Milne

People die in Lily Dale, including a young woman they might have saved if they'd been at the top of their game, but Dean can't help it; when Sam tells him he understands why Dean did what he did, then lets him off the hook and changes the subject, Dean's so grateful he's tempted to do something drastic, like hug it out.

It's a close thing. He doesn't actually go through with it, of course. He's got some pride. But he can't deny that it feels good having Sam beside him again. Even hours after they hit the road, he has a hard time keeping the smile off his face.

* * *

It's not like all their problems are solved in one afternoon. He's not that naïve, and neither is Sam. But that night, as they stop for dinner at a roadside burger joint, Sam laughs at all his crappy jokes, and Dean remembers down to his bones how being okay with Sam makes him feel like there's nothing they can't face, no evil in the world that stands a chance against them.

He does his best to keep it under wraps. That way of thinking gets you kicked in the teeth—nobody knows that better than him. But he's been mired in his own crap for so long, he can't help it if, just for tonight, he wants to pretend.

They stop for the night outside Chicago. It's late, so they take turns in the bathroom, then settle in, lights out and the room quiet save for the soft rattle of the heater taking the chill off. Dean gets under the covers like maybe he'll actually be able to sleep, for once. "Night, Sam," he says, and Sam says, "Night, Dean," like they haven't in longer than Dean can remember.

And then both of them lie there, wide awake in the dark.

Dean stares at the ceiling and tries not to think about the fifth of JD in his bag. He wants to get through one night, at least, without giving in to it; he knows it won't really prove anything, but it feels like something he owes Sam after today.

This is stupid, he thinks. He didn't exactly sleep much when they were apart. Sam didn't look like he'd been sleeping all that well, either. So, why can't they?

"You awake?" Sam asks, when the numbers on the clock turn over.

"Yeah. You?"

"Yeah."

There's a rustle of bedclothes. Dean knows without looking that Sam's pushed the covers down so he can stretch out.

"Everything okay with you?" Dean asks, not sure if he wants to know the answer. He hasn't had the chance to ask whether Satan's been making house calls lately.

Sam lets out a breath, like he knows what Dean's thinking. "Yeah, it's not that. Just thinking about everything, I guess."

Dean grunts. "Weird town," he says.

"Definitely."

Dean glances over. He can't see much of Sam: just the pale shape of his T-shirt. He wonders what Sam would say if Dean told him the museum guy had given him a message from Ellen.

"Shoulda guessed you'd show up there," he says instead.

"Bound to happen eventually, I guess."

"Yeah, well. Glad it happened sooner rather than later."

"Me, too."

Dean says nothing for a minute. His face is warm; he hadn't meant to admit it straight out like that. But it's easier, for some reason, when he can't see Sam's face.

"Time was you woulda held a grudge like that for a year," he says at last.

Sam makes a soft sound that might be a huff of agreement. "You want to hear something weird?"

"What's that?"

"I don't feel so angry any more. Not like I used to. I think—"

Dean waits, but there's nothing more forthcoming. "What?" he prompts at last.

"Remember how you came back without your scars?"

It's the first time Sam's mentioned anything to do with Cas, and it throws Dean for a second. But he wants to know where Sam's going with this, so he says, "Yeah, sure."

Sam sounds half-thoughtful, half-hopeful when he says, "Maybe the same thing happened with me."

At first, Dean doesn't know what he means. And then, he does. "You mean the demon blood."

Sam lets out a long, unsteady breath. "Yeah, maybe. I mean, maybe that's part of it, at least." He hesitates, then adds, "I don't know, maybe that's stupid."

"No, it's not. I mean, weirder things have happened, right?"

"Yeah, I guess."

Dean thinks about it. At last he says, "I hope so, Sam. Be nice to think you got something good out of it."

They fall silent for a little while. "I wish we could have done something," Sam dares then, in a low voice. "For Cas, I mean."

Dean's throat closes up. He shuts his eyes, and takes a deep breath, willing his heartbeat to even out. "At least you tried," he says.

"You were there, too, Dean."

Dean doesn't want to think about this. He's been doing his damnedest not to think about Cas at all. But there's safety in the dark, and after a moment, he says, his throat tight, "Yeah, but you're the one who got through to him."

"That's because I know what it feels like to screw up so bad you think you can never go back."

“You think I don’t?”

“You know what I mean.”

Dean swallows, and shifts in the bed. "Yeah, well. Like you said. Whatever dues you had to pay, you paid it."

Sam doesn't say anything for a minute. Then he says quietly, "It wasn't your fault. You know that, right?"

Dean doesn't answer. He doesn't know whether Sam means Cas, or Sam saying yes to Lucifer, or any of the crap that happened after.

Sam persists, "He did the right thing, in the end. He learned that from you."

"You think?"

"Yeah, Dean, I do." When Dean says nothing, Sam says with conviction, "Believe me, I know what I'm talking about."

Dean gets what Sam's saying, even if he's not sure he's ready to hear it. "Hell of a role model you picked," is the best he can manage.

"Not like I had a choice," Sam shoots back.

"Yeah, good point."

The silence goes on so long, Dean thinks maybe Sam finally fell asleep. It's for the best; Dean's throat aches, and he doesn't trust his voice any more. Despite himself, he's remembering Sam saying, _I've been looking up to you since I was four. Studying you, trying to be just like my big brother._ It's been a long time since he felt like Sam's big brother in any way that mattered.

Sam's breathing evens out. Dean knows every sound his brother makes when he sleeps: when he's down for the count, when he's sick, when he's faking. Sam could say the same about him, he's sure. And it seems like a long shot, but Dean thinks maybe they'll both sleep tonight after all. Maybe, for once, the nightmares will take a rain check.

Dean closes his eyes. He listens to Sam's breaths and the soft hum of the interstate, and starts to drift.

He's almost out when, sounding like he’s five, Sam asks, "Dean?"

"What?"

"Just checking."

"Go to sleep, Sammy," Dean says, but knows how he feels.

~ end ~


End file.
